


"Everything" Covers This, Too

by Winga



Series: Nightmares [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Also unhappy ending as always, Christmas presents can be dark, M/M, So this one is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winga/pseuds/Winga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always brutal. His body is covered in hidden, slowly healing bruises. He's getting used to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Everything" Covers This, Too

**Author's Note:**

> I promised a Christmas present for a friend and asked if it was okay to continue this arc and she said yes. So I finally got a new piece out =)

John lies on the bed his eyes open and he can't really breath. He tries to will it away, but the feeling of unease is there. He can hear Sherlock's steps (them he recognises) and he wonders if he'll come to the room before or after he's fallen into nightmarish dreams.

The answer comes in minutes.

“John,” Sherlock says and John wishes he would call him Watson or anything else but John. He knows, from the way his name is thrown out, that this is not his night.

**

It's always brutal. His body is covered in hidden, slowly healing bruises. He's getting used to it.

He fought the first time. He thinks Sherlock enjoyed it so he gave up on it and decided to give in.

**

John is already naked, he doesn't wear anything to bed anymore as Sherlock told him not to bother, to make life easier and things faster for both of them. Sherlock's lips turn upwards and he takes his boxers off.

The lights are out and Sherlock turns them on. John shivers under the covers and stares at Sherlock. He knows he should push the covers away but he doesn't. He never does, Sherlock knows it and when he walks to the bed, he tears them away and watches John hungrily, like he wants to eat him whole.

“My lovely little lamb,” Sherlock purrs and kisses John hard. His hand travels down to touch John's cock. John hates it, hates how Sherlock just has to make him come. Every single time. (Sherlock knows this and enjoys it.)

John knows Sherlock wants him to respond and he's afraid that one day he might. That. One day he might be broken enough.

“Mm,” Sherlock thinks out loud, pulling away from John and looking at him as if he was his prey, “lube or spit?”

John wishes himself dead or to a different place and he listens with his eyes closed as Sherlock reaches a decision. Somehow he's not surprised at all to hear Sherlock spitting on his hand and then feeling fingers at his arse. He bites his lip and tries not to let out any noise when Sherlock starts preparing him.

**

The first time Sherlock had applied the wanting to know everything even to his body. John will never forget the hours he spent in bed, some of which he'd been tied up. Sherlock went through all of his bones and all the scars, mentally mapping them all.

John doesn't want to remember but every time, _every time_ Sherlock says something, does something, to remind him of all the hours he spent on him.

And then Sherlock had learned all about what John liked in bed. Liked, even when he didn't want to. That had taken weeks, well, it was still an on-going experiment even though John just wants to forget about it; to try to think he and Sherlock might be lovers or something. (That works maybe for a few minutes before Sherlock says something like: “Stop it. You know lying to yourself is a stupid idea.)

**

Sherlock has a fixation on the scar John got in the army. John wonders why that is, but has never asked, not really wanting to hear, fearing the answer to be something that he really doesn't want to know. Even now, as he's preparing John, he's giving attention to the scar, if only by staring at it. Then he looks into John's eyes and John knows he sees how he wonders.

He smirks, pulling his fingers out of John, leaving him feeling empty.

“It's because if that hadn't happened, I wouldn't be able to do all of this,” Sherlock tells John, smearing spit on his penis. “I don't think it would've been so easy to find someone quite like you.” He settles himself and starts to guide the erect penis inside of John, who's yelping now and again because it does hurt. “You really shouldn't have just – ah – moved in with a man you had known for – Ahhh – so little time. But well. What is done is done. I'm glad you didn't think.”

John has closed his eyes, he always does, not wanting to see Sherlock's smug or orgasmic or wanting or whatever face during sex. But now he has to open his eyes and he stares deep into Sherlock's eyes with anger.

Sherlock grins and pushes into John, who, for the first time in couple of months starts fighting.

“I hate you! I really hate you!” John shouts, pushing at Sherlock, trying to get away but only managing to make Sherlock angle for his prostate, making himself moan. “You think, ohgodstopit, that this is so funny, do you? That this is, awfuckyou, a game?”

“I _know_ this is a game,” Sherlock answers and John's anger dies, fast, because he knows it won't get him anywhere.

He protests, weakly, and says: “I really hate you, you know I'd really rather die, don't you?”

Sherlock nods and keeps his pace, fastening little by little until he's pumping into John at almost unhumane speed. “I love fucking you,” he whispers into John's ear with a smirk. He stops abruptly and pulls out before he comes. “I love you sucking me, too,” he continues and John groans, annoyed at himself, at how easily he gives in nowadays.

Sherlock makes John kneel on the floor as he sits on the bed and he guides John's head towards his cock. Obediently, hating himself, John opens his mouth and takes the now-familiar piece of meat in his mouth, moving his lips and tongue, taking care of not to hurt it with his teeth. He'd learned from the one time not to do it again, flinching with the memory of the candle and punishment. Sherlock's face shows pure bliss even if he manages to keep an eye on John all the time.

John laps at the cock, bobbing his head back and forth until Sherlock decides he wants to take charge and pulls John's hair, making him stop. Soon Sherlock is fucking John's mouth in earnest, making him deep-throat now and again until he's coming, deep in John's throat, making the man swallow it all.

After collecting himself for a few moments, Sherlock turns his attention to John. “Now, your turn.”

**

John realised, probably the seventh time, that Sherlock was going to make him come, feel like he wanted it, every time they fucked. Or well, every time Sherlock wanted to use John. Sometimes, Sherlock lets John fuck him – well, he's doing it all, but anyway. Sometimes, Sherlock gives him a blowjob. It varies.

John hates it all, hates it always. It's humiliating and making him feel even more like Sherlock's toy (which, if he thinks about it, is probably just what Sherlock wants).

Sometimes he wonders if there'd be a way to prevent it, but always he thinks that probably the only way would be to show enthusiasm, and he's bad at faking.

**

Of course Sherlock has a collection of sex toys. He leaves John, for a moment, to collect a vibrator. “Today seems to call this,” he says, when he comes back. He also has rope to tie John to the bed in case he'll protest – he always does, a bit, at this point.

“No.”

Sherlock smirks and sits on top of John to get his wrists tied to the bed. And then his ankles, spread-eagled. This time he uses lube on the vibrator and turns it on before he starts pushing it in John, trying to find the sweet spot. John writhes on the sheets, wishing he was anywhere but here.

Sherlock pushes the vibrator deep inside of John, touching his g-spot, and gives a squeeze to his erect-growing penis. John moans, unable to hold back.

A ghost of a smile haunts Sherlock's face as he bends down to kiss John just as he starts moving the hand, knowing John won't take long, having had a fuck earlier.

Afterwards, John falls into nothingness, feeling empty and used.


End file.
